


Damage

by evelett



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Sheriff Stilinski is a vegetable, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelett/pseuds/evelett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rule number one of Beacon Hills High is don’t fuck with Derek Hale. Those who don’t follow the rule end up in the hospital. No joke. Last year Greenberg accidentally beaned Derek with a ball in lacrosse practice and the dude spent three months in a wheelchair. When you fail to follow rule number one see rule number two, ie. flee for your life you stupid bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule Number Two

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the book Perfect Chemistry by Simone Elkeles.  
> This is unbeta'd. If anyone does want to beta for me leave me a comment to let me know!

“Dude you okay?” His adoptive brother looks at Stiles over his aviators.

Stiles fidgets with the wheels on his rollerblades from his seat in Jackson’s porsche. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jackson snorts, “Seriously? Cause I haven’t seen you fidget this much since we started freshman year.”

Looking over at his brother sometimes he wonders what it would be like to be him. Captain of the lacrosse team, perfect grades, Robert and Susan Whittemore’s favorite son, and stupid good looks. It’s not that he’s jealous or anything, he just wonders how much easier his life would be. What would his life be like if his dad, his real dad, hadn’t been in a coma for the last ten years? What if instead both of his parents had died in the car accident? _NO!_ he thinks violently. The contents of his stomach churn making him nauseous at the thought. God he is such a horrible son. Its not bad enough that he disappoints Robert and Susan on a daily basis. No, he has to wish his actual father dead. Not for the first time he wishes he would have died in the car accident instead of his mom, he’s the one that deserves it.

Jackson snaps his fingers in Stiles’ face, “Hello, earth to Stilinski.”

Stiles frowns, “What?”

“You totally spaced again bro. What’s up?”

Sometimes he wishes that Jackson didn’t care so much about him, he’s the only one that does. On the rare occasion that he’s honest with himself Stiles can admit that if it wasn’t for his adoptive brother he would have tried to kill himself years ago. Shaking his head, he brushes away his thoughts, “Nothing, I guess I’m just nervous about school.”

“Cheer up man, its our senior year. Nine months and then we’re free,” Jackson’s bleached white teeth showing as he grins wide.

“Yeah man,” he goes back to looking out the window. He doesn’t know how to explain to Jackson just how much school is like his own personal purgatory. Nobody bullies him because he’s the only person Jackson isn’t an outright douche to besides Danny but he doesn’t have any friends either.What kind of loser has no friends? Most of the time he spends lunch in the library or outside because he hates forcing himself on Jackson and his friends. The general population tolerate him at best and avoid him like the plague when his ADHD gets bad. The reason the teachers don’t hassle him too much is because of the Whittemore’s and because before the accident his dad was the sheriff.

But no matter how much he hates high school he dreads it ending. After he graduates he’ll have to go away, probably to Berkley, and then he won’t be able to visit his dad every day. He tries not to think about it as much as possible because whenever he does he feels like he’s suffocating. It’s getting harder and harder to put off now that application deadlines are looming in the distance. Not for the first time he’s glad he didn’t eat breakfast or it would probably be all over the floor of Jackson’s porsche.

Jackson swings into the Beacon Hills High School parking lot like he’s Vin Diesel or Paul Walker in the Fast and the Furious movies. The lacrosse captain is stomping on the breaks before he knows what’s going on and Stiles smacks his head on the dashboard hard enough to feel blood dripping down his forehead. Stiles’ heart rate kicks up a couple notches into double time and it feels like all of the air in the porsche has been sucked out like a vacuum. His vision is grainy as he tries to breath. Distantly he can hear Jackson asking him if he’s okay but he can’t focus enough to answer back. A paper bag is being shoved in his face and he clutches it desperately. He breathes into it for what feels like hours but is actually only a couple minutes. When he looks up Derek Hale is standing less than an inch from the porsche looking like he’s going to eviscerate them both. Oh sweet baby Jesus.

“Sorry,” Jackson calls out to the leather clad thug and wrenches the porsche into reverse. For a second he thinks Hale is going to follow them but the rest of his friends walk up to him. Hale and his friends give Stiles the heebie jeebies. Having nearly all his classes with each and every one of them throughout his educational career doesn’t make them any less scary.

Jackson pulls into a parking spot and looks over at him with worry, “You okay?”

Stiles’ cheeks turn slightly red in embarrassment, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He isn’t. He has to fight down a panic attack every time he gets into a car. It’s the reason he never learned to drive a car in the first place. After the accident cars freak him out. To say that Robert and Susan were less than pleased when he refused to take drivers ed in the first place is a bit of an understatement. But he can’t help it, honestly he’s tried. He feels guilty when Jackson has to haul his ass all over town but he can’t get behind the wheel of a car, not now probably not ever. God he feels like such a spaz.

Stiles is filled with trepidation when he sees Hale and his gang hanging out on the stairs in front of the doors. They all look at ease in their leather jackets but Stiles can practically taste the tension coming from them that belies their calm. Secretly Stiles likes to call them the Leather Cult, for obvious reasons and for not so obvious ones. Not exactly creative or ingenious but it works.

Rule number one of Beacon Hills High is don’t fuck with Derek Hale. Those who don’t follow the rule end up in the hospital. No joke. Last year Greenburg accidentally beaned Derek with a ball in lacrosse practice and the dude spent three months in a wheelchair. When you fail to follow rule number one see rule number two, ie. flee for your life you stupid bastard.

Derek steps out in front of them when they get to the stairs. “Watch where you’re going Whittemore.You know easily accidents can happen.”

“I said I was sorry dude,” Jackson sneers.

“Not good enough,” Hale growls. Like literally growls like some kind of wild animal.

“Look asshole, it was an accident. He said he was sorry so drop it,” Stiles steps in front of Jackson into Derek’s bubble.

He can’t tell who is more shocked that he stood up to the guy, Stiles or Derek. In his head there is a shrill voice screaming rulenumbertwo!rulenumbertwo!rulenumbertwo! Stiles must be more suicidal than he thought.

The look of surprise on Hale’s face turns dangerous as he smirks and his green eyes rover over Stiles. Stiles is feeling a lot more naked and vulnerable than he was a minute ago. He feels overly self conscious in his gray skinny jeans, red hoodie and chucks. It takes all of his self control not to squirm under Derek’s heavy gaze.

Stiles feels like a deer caught in the headlights as Hale chuckles, “Who’s going to make me? You?”

His face flushes, Stiles hates being laughed at. “Fuck you Hale,” he snarls.

“You offering?” one of Hale’s eyebrows rises. The eyebrows are mocking him. It’s like they are a separate entity entirely and pass silent broody judgement on everyone. Stiles hates those eyebrows and the smarmy douche they’re attached to. Sometimes he dreams about shaving them off.

Stiles snorts at the mental image, the rest of the Leather Cult is looking at him like he’s psychotic. Maybe he is. Then again he’s not exactly one hundred percent sure he took all of his meds this morning. Stiles rolls his eyes as he brushes past Hale.

The entire walk to his locker Jackson trails after him giving him furtive looks, “What’s with the looks dude?”

“You take your meds this morning?” Okay so maybe sometimes he gets jealous of Jackson and feels like a burden but he loves his adoptive brother.

“Yeah, Jacks I took my meds. I’m fine, you didn’t break me. I’ll see you later bro,” he shoves his stuff in his locker and tries to look convincing.

Jackson smiles back and punches Stiles in the arm, like he’s trying to make up for showing his feelings.

Stiles barely makes it through first period before he’s called into the Principal’s office. He doesn’t know what he did to get sent there but whatever it is Robert and Susan are going to be pissed. He already knows how the lecture will go. First there’s the Deeply Disappointed Looks, then lecturing on how to behave in public and that what he does affects everyone, why does he feel the need to punish then after everything they’ve done for him and his father. Somewhere down the line Susan will get hysterical and Robert will ban him from going to the hospital to see his father and subtly hint about how shitty the economy is and how they won’t always have the money to keep his father in such a nice facility while he’s a vegetable. If it gets really bad there is even the threat of taking him off life support to ‘end his suffering’ and ‘so he can be with his wife in heaven’. Oh they never say it outright but Stiles isn’t stupid, he knows exactly what they are saying.

“Ahh, Mr. Stilinski. Come in, I’m your new Principal, Mr. Argent.” The old balding man behind the desk has dark beady eyes that set him on edge. Stiles fidgets nervously in his seat, “Do you know why I called you in here this morning Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles shakes his head negative.

“I heard about the altercation you had earlier this morning with Mr. Hale,” Principal Argent’s kindly smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Stiles shakes his head again, “There wasn’t an altercation, we were just...talking.”

“And do you mind if I ask how you got that?” Argent points to his forehead.

Stiles touches the scab on his forehead, he had forgotten all about it after the...talk with Derek. Now that he’s thinking about it though his head is starting to hurt. “I hit my head on the dashboard this morning.”

“Oh?” the new Principal doesn’t sound the least bit convinced.

“Really, I’m pretty accident prone.” Which is a total understatement. Stiles flails about so much that he falls down the staircase at home a good three or four times a month. It’s a thing. The only time he isn’t flailing about is when he’s in the water. Which is why he’s on the swim team and not the lacrosse team with Jackson.

“Alright then Mr. Stilinski you’re free to go,” Principal Argent sounds pissed he’s not trying to blame this all on Derek.

Tension seeps out of him as he goes to the bathroom to see how bad he looks. Stiles winces when he looks in the mirror. There’s a pretty nasty bruise forming under the cut. Susan is going to throw a shit fit.

Stiles trudges back to chemistry, hall pass gripped tight.

“Ahh, Mr. Stilinski. How nice of you to join us. If you’ll please take your seat. As I’ve already explained to everyone I’ve randomly assigned you all lab partners for the year. You’re partners with Mr. Hale,” Mr. Harris is as condescending as ever.

Harris is the only teacher who openly harasses him, the man hides it whenever Jackson is around though. If Stiles is the scum under Harris’ shoe then in his eyes Jackson hung the moon and stars.

Randomly assigned his ass.

Stiles dumps his stuff on the table loudly. Okay so maybe he could be a little more respectful in Harris’ class but he’s not. He didn’t start this little feud with Harris but he sure as hell isn’t going to stand by and take anyone’s shit, no matter who they are. It’s the principle he lives by, maybe. Which is probably what led him to the...talk with Hale this morning.

Dude scares the shit out of Stiles just like he does everyone else but he won’t let that stop him. He probably could have let the comment (threat?) about car accidents go if he hadn’t been such a douche to Jackson. Sure Jackson is a douche too, but most of the time he treats Stiles like he’s an actual human being instead of some leper. Hell Jackson is the only person on this planet that actually gives a shit about him, so yeah he will stand up for his adoptive brother. Even if its against someone as bat shit crazy as Derek Hale.

What’s the saying? An eye for an eye will leave the world blind. Yeah that pretty much sums Stiles up, because even after he’s blind he’ll still fight back. Screw world peace, he’s not some Miss America contestant.

No matter how much he may hate the man Stiles does actually want a good grade. So he releases a long breath letting go of the tension and starts taking notes on what Harris is talking about. He can feel Hale and his judgy eyebrows scowling at him but Stiles ignores it. He can totally handle sitting next to the thug for a whole year. And if Hale decides to kill him for this morning or something else down the road then at least he won’t have to deal with Harris anymore. God he’s getting morbidly morose.

Other than lunch the rest of the day kind of blurs together. All introductions and class outlines. Unsurprisingly Harris is the only one that assigns homework. During lunch he hides out in the library reading a gigantic book of old folklore in latin. He likes the distraction, it makes him forget about his life for a little while.

After school he spends two hours in the pool working on his strokes. Swim season isn’t until spring but he’s out there everyday after school practicing. It keeps him calm, keeps him sane. He knows he doesn’t have the atypical swimmers body, practically no upper body muscles at all really but he’s fast.

Like clockwork when the two hours of swimming are up he rollerblades over to the hospital to see his dad. That’s his solution to the whole driving problem, the rollerblading that is. See can totally be self sufficient. Well, sort of.

He gives his dad’s nurse, Ms. McCall, a small smile when she sees him. “How is he?”

It’s always the same question. Every time he comes in. Sometimes he feels like a broken record or a cd with a scratch that just keeps repeating.

“He’s doing good,” Nurse McCall’s answer is always the same. ‘He went outside today’ or ‘he’s watching his shows’ or ‘he can’t wait to hear you play for him’. Like it’s some sort of accomplishment, having people propping him up in a chair like some kind of life size doll. Stiles isn’t stupid, he knows his dad’s a vegetable and that he’s never going to come out of his coma. Head trauma is tricky, that’s what all of the doctors tell him. But really he knows the truth, his dad died ten years ago same as his mom, the only difference is his body is still chugging on. Like a sick parody of the Little Engine That Could. Maybe if he wasn’t so selfish he would let them pull the plug and finally let his dad die in peace instead of prolonging it. But he is selfish and he can’t let that happen, he can’t lose what little of his dad he has left.

So instead he visits every day after school and plays the violin for his dad because it seems to calm him. Or maybe it just calms Stiles, he’s not sure. On the weekends he volunteers around the hospital and puts on shows for the patients when they ask. How is he suppose to deal when he goes away to college? What if something happens and he’s not there? God he feels sick.


	2. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s going to die a bloody death and his gravestone will say ‘too stupid to follow the rules.’ It’s really quite tragic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm sorry for the long wait. I just wanted to thank you all for your comments and encouragement. And if anyone is interested I am still looking for a beta.  
> Again feel free to leave a comment, I love getting your guys opinions so don't be shy.   
> Thank you for reading!

Stiles hates being the center of attention. Sweat forms in the small of his back, his throat kind just closes off like he’s about to puke, he gets all fidgety, and if its really bad his right eye will start twitching. It’s this fucked up Pavlovian response he developed after being at the end of Robert and Susan’s  near constant scrutiny and ultimate displeasure. And no matter how hard he tries he can’t stop it, it’s like some sort of allergic reaction.

So when Hale is staring at him in Chemistry yet again as he walks in the door the next day Stiles can feel himself reacting. Except its a hundred times worse because he’s never been the sole focus of someone’s attention like this before. Even when Robert and Susan are bitching at him they don’t really focus on him. Really he just wants Hale to go back to not even having knowledge of his existence and just dissolve into oblivion.

Avoidance, avoidance is the key to survival. For some reason though he feels like his usual philosophy of ignoring a problem until it goes away isn’t going to work this time around. He feels cornered and tetchy under Hale’s suffocating gaze. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Instead of answering Hale continues to glare with his eyebrows of doom. Has he mentioned how much he hates those eyebrows? Because he does, he really really does. “What are you wearing?”

Stiles groans as he looks down at himself. He’s still wearing the outfit (black dress pants, a charcoal button down, a black fitted vest, and a purple bow tie) Lydia made him wear for her annual back to school party last night. (Because nothing says welcome back to school like getting so shit-faced you pass out.) Most social gatherings in general are like extreme forms of cruel and unusual punishments but Lydia’s parties were torture. Every time it ends the same; with Stiles hiding out somewhere because he hates crowds and sober because he can’t drink with the meds he takes. Last night was no different except for the slight deviation of an extremely inebriated and pissed off Jackson.

Apparently in order to spice things up this year Coach Finstock, a.k.a. Coach Cupcake, decided that the lacrosse team would benefit from having co-captains instead of just one captain. And who did Coach Cupcake appoint?

Three guesses as to who.

Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!

Derek Hale, leader of his own cult and Stiles’ new lab partner, is now also Co-Captain of the lacrosse team with Jackson. His adoptive brother hung onto him like a deranged octopus until Stiles managed to flag Danny down and they dumped Jackson in Lydia’s bed to sleep off all the alcohol.

Absently he tugs at the purple bow tie, “I didn’t go home last night and there wasn’t any time to go home and change this morning. And what’s wrong with the way I’m dressed? At least I don’t look like I stepped off of the set of Grease.”

Oh dear God did that serious come out of his mouth? His blood feels like its vibrating under his skin. Shit, he forgot to take his meds today. Not good. _May-day! May-day!_

“What.”

“Oh come on, the leather jacket, your shirts are always a couple sizes too small, the tight jeans, your little cult, and the eyebrows. You are totally Danny Zuko.”

Really he’s trying to stop this train wreck but somehow the need to shut up doesn’t seem to compute. Behind them Greenberg is having a conniption trying to stifle his laughter. He looks positively epileptic.

“What.” Apparently somebody forgot how to use question marks this morning.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath if he’s going down he might as well do so thoroughly, “Oh like you’ve never noticed. Erica is totally Rizzo, Isaac is Kenickie, Scott’s the stupid jock, and Boyd is Frenchy.”

And now all of the Leather Cult is giving him the stink eye, great. He’s going to die a bloody death and his gravestone will say ‘too stupid to follow the rules.’ It’s really quite tragic.

“So what, that makes you Sandy?”

Stiles flails, “Not on your life, I’m just one of the chorus members in this scenario, or maybe Cha Cha.”

“Why Cha Cha?”

And really never in a million years did he think he was going to be having this conversation with Derek Hale. Maybe if he had he would have come up with a better answer. “Because she comes in and fucks shit up.”

“You do realize that in the movie Zuko and Cha Cha had a thing right,” Greenberg pipes in.

Stiles glares heatedly at the lacrosse player, “Can it Greenberg, you’re Sonny so you have no room to judge.”

Trying to hide his embarrassment he pulls out the book of folklore he was reading yesterday in the library to avoid making more of an ass of himself in front of Hale. He hunkers down in his stool and gets lost in his book. That is he does until he feels someone trying to read over his shoulder. He hates it when people hover. It reminds him of being in the hospital.

When he turns around Hale is close enough that Stiles can make out individual flecks of hazel in his green eyes. “Can I help you with something?”

“What is that?” Hale is whispering. Why is he whispering?

“A book,” Stiles says slowly like Derek is retarded. He is a dead man walking.

“No, really? I thought it was a unicorn,” Hale snarks.

“Oh. My. God. Derek Hale, the guy who will be voted most likely to become a serial killer, just made a joke. The apocalypse is nigh! Everybody run for your lives!”

Derek’s eyebrows raise in confusion, its adorable. Wait...what? Adorable eyebrows? Um, NO! They are evil broody eyebrows. Scavenging eyebrows that feed on the carrion of others misery. Not cute, nope.

“I meant what are you reading?” Derek growls...again. Stiles is getting the feeling that its a character trait. Like the scowling. He’s pretty sure that Derek use to be nice and had actual emotions other than perpetually pissed off and rage but that was before Kate Argent tried to murder his family. And now the psycho bitch’s father was their Principal. Ouch.

“Ancient folklore in its original latin,” he wishes Derek would back up out of his bubble. Briefly he wonders if he could get away with shoving the dickwad’s face away and keep said hand attached to his body...probably not.

“And you can read it?” The disbelief in Hale’s voice is evident. Stiles doesn’t understand why everyone just assumes he’s this airhead with nothing in between his ears. It pisses him off. Sure he may not be the brightest crayon in the box but he’s not a dimwit.

“Yes,” Stiles snaps and shoves his book back into his backpack. Underneath his breath he mutters heatedly about stupid neanderthals. Is polyglotism really such a hard concept to understand?

Stiles pillows is head on his arms and decides to take a nap as he indignation fizzles out, he’s just so damn tired. He didn’t sleep at all last night and he can’t figure out if it’s because he’s insomniatic by nature or because of his inability to sleep at other people’s houses. He just needs like five minutes of shut eye and then he’ll be good.

A couple minutes later Harris slams his hands down on table effectively waking him up. This of course makes Stiles flail convulsively and he tips over in his seat landing on the ground, hard. Harris is looking down at him gleefully like Christmas just came early. “Detention Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles groans as he sit back down on his seat. Someone please just kill him now. Stiles glances over at his lab partner. Maybe if he asked really nicely? No, that would be too easy.

“Hey Stiles,” Jackson walks over to his lab table after class lets out.

“Hey,” he seriously hopes that Jackson isn’t as cut up about the whole co-captain thing anymore.

“Wanna sit with me and the guys at lunch?” Jackson glances over at Hale who is taking his sweet time packing up his shit.

“Sure,” Stiles shrugs. He gets that this is Jackson’s way of apologizing for last night, it’s just weird. Usually Jackson is cool with leaving him do his own thing. Whatever.

Hale’s dark chuckle behind them is unmistakable. Stiles scowls and spins around on Derek, he’s still seething from earlier.

“Can I help you with something?” Hale raises his hands in a placating gesture but somehow that just pisses him off more.

“Go fuck a duck Hale,” Stiles can feel the rest of the Leather Cult watching him while Jackson tries to pull him away.

“Kinky,” Hale brushes up against him as he walks out and Stiles shudders.

Ugh. Okay so he really hates it when people joke about sex. It makes him extremely uncomfortable. And its not because he’s a prude, because he’s not. It just really embarrassing when he’s the only person in the entire school that is still a virgin. And yes that includes the freshmen and the snaggle toothed librarian with the lazy eye.

When he’s really old Stiles is going to be that crazy hermit whose house everyone swears is haunted and has dead bodies piled up in the walls. He’s going to die alone and a virgin and nobody will even notice. And after he dies his sixteen cats will eat his body out of starvation. See life plans, he’s got them all worked out.

So maybe saying he’s going to die a virgin when he’s still at the ripe age of seventeen is a tad bit angsty or emo or whatever. But it’s true. He’s this unattractive spastic loner loser and he will never being in a relationship or get kissed or any of that. It’s not an exaggeration, it’s fact. Sure it sucks but he accepted his fate at an early age and really isn’t all that cut up about it. But that doesn’t mean that the constant sex jokes that people keep on spouting don’t sting any less.

Stiles spends lunch quietly stabbing at his food and chewing violently. Really he shouldn’t take out his aggression on his food. It hasn’t done anything to him, but he can’t help himself. Hale pisses him off. The guy is deliberately messing with him. Maybe that’s his retribution for yesterday and his rant this morning? Instead of actually killing him Hale will just annoy him to death. Stiles scowls as he sticks a fork in his apple.

“What did the apple ever do to you Stilinski?” Danny has a bemused expression on his face, like he thinks its cute Stiles is having a tantrum. Which he totally is not. He’s almost an adult for christ sake, adults don’t have tantrums. Or at least that’s what Robert and Susan tell him. Shit, he’s going to be in so much trouble for getting detention. Stiles slams his head down on the table...right where his bruise is. Fucking hell. The groan he lets out is something akin to the sound a beached whale might make.

“What’s got you all riled up today dude?” Danny chuckles as Stiles glares over at where Hale and his cult are camped out on the other side of the cafeteria. “You know he’s just fucking with you to get a reaction out of you. Just stop reacting and he’ll get bored and leave you alone.”

“Thanks Dr. Phil, for that insightful piece of advice.” Danny tosses a french fry at him. “Okay sorry dude, he just really pisses me off.”

Most of Jackson’s friends have been around him enough by now to recognize his moods and know enough that they are better off ignoring him. After that Stiles just zones out for a while. He notices Scott McCall and Allison giving each other sickeningly adorable looks from their opposite sides of the cafeteria. Sometimes he just really doesn’t understand people at all. For whatever reason the two have gone around pretending that they weren’t dating since Allison moved here sophomore year. He doesn’t know who exactly they think they’re fooling because they are being so obvious that even Helen Keller would be able to see that they’re dating. A couple tables down from him the new transfer, Matt what’s-his-face, is staring at Allison intensely. Which is just giving off these really fucking creepy vibes. Seriously it’s like everyone he goes to school with is insane. Maybe it’s something in the water.

Detention with Harris is less than spectacular. Which big surprise there. By the end he is thoroughly agitated and chomping at the proverbial bit. He’s come up with dozens upon dozens of ways to kill the man. Like 1,000 Ways To Die but 1,000 Ways To Kill Your Chemistry Teacher instead. So not the most stable thing to do during detention but he figures it’s a little better than watching the clock.

He sets a relentless pace when he dives into the pool. There is nothing in the world except for him and the water. The longer he swims the more he feels like the water is leeching away all his pent up stress. He loses himself in the endless repetition and the weightlessness of it all. Sometimes when he’s had a particularly hard day like today he’ll let himself sink to the bottom of the pool. The pressure a heavy weight while he just sits there and holds his breath. He holds it until it feels like he can remember how to breath again and the burn in his lungs becomes too much. When he breaks the surface gasping the air feels more oppressive than the water pressure below.

The locker room is cavernous and empty, the spray of the shower is near scalding on his skin. Those few minutes at the bottom of the pool are the closest he ever comes to committing suicide. That would be the way he would do it though, if it ever came down to it. He can’t slit his wrists because he can’t stand the sight of his own blood. And he can’t overdose because with his luck someone would find him and he’d end up getting his stomach pumped. Stiles decided years ago that if he needed to end it he would strap on a whole bunch of weights and then just sink to the bottom of the pool. So far he has been too scared, too much of a coward. To be honest though he doesn’t think he’ll ever have the guts to pull the plug like that.

Stiles is so lost in his own mind that he doesn’t even notice that anyone else is in the locker room with him until he’s being slammed up against the wall. His mind whites out in a panic as he thrashes about trying to get free.

There’s a dark chuckle next to his ear that sends shivers down his spine, “Calm down.”

And fuck if he doesn’t recognize Hale’s voice. Stiles tries harder to break free, “Jesus fuck you are actually going to kill me.”

Derek’s grip tightens infinitesimally before letting him go, “I’m not going to kill you Stilinski. I came to apologize.”

“Apologize!” his voice is shrill. “You sexually assault me in the shower and that is your way of apologizing.”

If he didn’t know any better he would say that the asshole is smirking. But that can’t be because Derek Hale doesn’t smile or show any emotion that could be misconstrued as happiness.

Hale shrugs one of his broad shoulders, “I couldn’t resist.”

“Because you’re a rapist?”

“You get worked up way too easily,” his green eyes rove over Stiles’ body.

Which is still naked.

Blushing he grabs his towel off of the hanger and covers up, “And what exactly are you apologizing for?”

Okay no Hale is definitely smirking now, “For being an ass, if we’re going to be lab partners we might as well at least try to get along.”

“Were you abducted by a pod person or something?”

The muscled teenager heaves the put upon sigh of the weary, “See you tomorrow Stiles.”

When Derek leaves he slumps against the wall behind him. What the fuck just happened?

 


	3. There's Only Artificial Light Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get assigned their semester project for Chemistry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first off a major thanks to my beta, TonyStarkIsARobot. Valerie is brilliant and amazing and you should totally check out her account on here.   
> Secondly I'm sorry this chapter took so long but hopefully *fingers crossed* it was worth the wait.

In all honesty he doesn’t really know what to think of Hale’s little sneak attack in the locker room earlier. On one hand he was in the middle of taking a shower and umm...naked, when the dude slammed him up against the wall. So while not exactly rape he definitely feels violated.

His hormonal body on the other hand very much liked the proximity and the muscles.

Okay! So yes, Derek Hale is attractive. _Oh holy God_ is he attractive. With the muscles, and the ridiculous green eyes that seemed to constantly be changing in color, and the cheekbones, and the broody eyebrows of doom (that he may have a tiny bit of a thing for). And he totally just lost the point of this little tirade.

The point...yes! The _point_ is you don’t just go around slamming naked people into walls all willy nilly. A bitch can get slapped for doing shit like that.

And since when is bodily harm ever a good preamble for a truce, like ever?

So in light of recent events Stiles has come to the conclusion that Derek Hale is legitimately batshit insane and should be locked up in a funny farm. Really that seems like the most reasonable solution. But since that isn’t going to happen anytime in the foreseeable future he has come up with Plan B. Plan B’s objective is to avoid the wackadoo as much as possible and never being alone with said nutcase again. Which is _totally_ not an overreaction, it’s just prudent planning.

When he gets home Stiles is still so wrapped up in what happened earlier in the locker room that he doesn’t even notice Robert and Susan waiting for him in the den.

“Genim, come in here for a moment please,” Susan’s usually sickly sweet voice is brittle.

No matter how many times he’s asked over the years they still refuse to call him by anything other than his given name. He hates it. Hates the reminder of what he’s lost. Why can’t they just call him by his nickname like everyone else? Is it really that difficult?

He walks into the den wary. Robert is standing in front of the electric fireplace while Susan is stiffly sitting on the small faux-suede couch. The tension in the room feels grating and makes his whole body instantly go taut and rigid.

“Sit down,” Robert orders, his voice harsh.

Nervously Stiles wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as he sits down on the opposite end of the couch from Susan.

“We got a call from your Chemistry teacher today, Mr. Harris? Said that you got detention for falling asleep in class today. He also mentioned that you got called down to the Principal’s Office yesterday. Care to elaborate on any of that?” Robert sounds almost resigned. To what he’s not sure, maybe to the fact that Stiles will always be a screw up.

“Mr. Harris has it out for me and I didn’t get in trouble yesterday, the Principal just wanted to talk,” Stiles hunches over slightly trying to make himself look smaller.

“Since when do Principals call students in their office ‘just to talk’ unless they are in trouble?” Stiles opens his mouth to reply but Robert just steamrolls over him. “And are you really going to blame you getting detention on Mr. Harris? You’re practically an adult now Genim, you can’t keep blaming your actions on other people. You need to start thinking about the consequences of what you do and take responsibility.”

He knows that he’s suppose to respond, that they’re expecting him to say something, but all he can think about is how they are calling him by his first name. How they aren’t even pronouncing it right. The harsh consonants and vowels grate on his nerves.

“We’re just trying to understand what going on with you lately Genim, you haven’t been acting like yourself.” He’s dislodged from his thoughts when Susan places a hand on his knee. He stares dumbly down at her tiny hand. The Whittemores aren’t really a touchy feely family. They don’t do unnecessary physical contact.

When he looks up at her cold blue eyes Susan looks like she’s trying to be concerned instead of actually feeling concerned for him.

Sometimes when he’s feeling particularly spiteful and angsty Stiles blames both his and Jackson’s issues on Robert and Susan. They adopted two broken boys but then they didn’t know what to do with them once they came home. They picked Jackson for his looks and Stiles so that they looked good in front of the community. It wasn’t even that the Whittemore’s couldn’t get pregnant or anything. They just didn’t have any kids of their own because Susan didn’t want to get fat. How fucked up is that.  

And suddenly he’s angry at both Robert and Susan. Since when have they ever taken an interest in him unless it was to berate him? How the hell would they know what his normal behavior is like? They don’t know him at all. Fuck them both for saying he isn’t responsible. And fuck Mr. Harris for actually calling them about his detention and then telling them about him getting called down to the Principal’s Office yesterday. That was none of his business.

Stiles is so furious he just gets up and leaves, ignoring their shouts for him to come back. He needs out and he needs out NOW. Breathing heavily Stiles locks himself inside his room. He throws himself down on his bed and turns up the volume on his iPod until he can’t hear the outside world.

Something inside of him crumbles. Suddenly all of the sadness and pressure becomes too much to fight. The hollowed out feeling in his chest turns cold and heavy and tiny tremors seize his entire body. His breathing is ragged and labored. It feels like the whole world is crashing down around him. Why can’t he do anything right? No matter how good his intentions are he always manages to screw everything up. He’s too much of a disappointment. Too stupid. Too spastic. Too pathetic. Too weird. Too hyperactive. Too weak. Too useless. Too broken. Too... _too Stiles_.

In the darkness of his room, Stiles’ gaze snags on the dozens of tiny orange bottles just within reach standing on the desk next to his bed. The soft light of the nearly full moon coming through his window sets the translucent cylinders aglow. He can barely remember a time when he didn’t need medicine to keep him stable, keep him sane. What usually anchors him suddenly leaves him feeling as if he’s floating out to sea. Calling out to him like a siren’s song is the thought of blissful ignorance and oblivion that taking a few too many pills would induce. He won’t overdose, even though everyone would be better off with him out of their lives. He just needs to escape this unbearable pain for a little bit. With shaky fingers he snatches up one of the smaller bottles and pops off the childproof cap.

He over medicates to the point where he feels numbly detached from his body and the world at large. Its like there’s this invisible force field between him and the rest of the world and nothing can penetrate it. Not Mr. Harris, not Robert and Susan, and definitely not his glare stare extraordinaire lab partner. Before he knows it a few days have gone by the next time he surfaces from the nebulous haze and he can’t remember any of it.

Jackson corners him in his room after dinner on the third night and practically rips the orange pill bottle out of his hand.

“What the hell dude!” Stiles makes a grab for his medication but Jackson just moves them out of his reach. “Come on dude give me back my meds, I need them.”

“No, you’ll get them back when you promise to stop abusing them.”

“Dude what are you talking about? I’m not abusing anything.”

Jackson snorts, “Did you really think I wouldn’t have noticed how you’ve been popping pills like they’re tic tacs?”

“Give. Them. Back.”

“No,” the word is barely out of the lacrosse player’s mouth before Stiles is lunging at him. Jackson sidesteps him only to get his legs swept out from under him. Stiles is straddling his adoptive brother while simultaneously trying to reach for the orange bottle in his outstretched hand. It takes little to no effort for Jackson to flip them over so that he is on top of the slighter teen. “Enough!”

They are both breathing heavily, chests heaving. Jackson looks concerned and borderline violent, like a momma bear does when it’s protecting her cub. “Just enough already. You are not going to keep on abusing your medication just so you can escape. You are going to take them as Dr. Travis prescribed. You are going to man up and stop all of this emo bullshit or so help me God I will beat the shit out of you.”

“Sorry,” he croaks out after a couple of minutes. Shame burns like acid in his esophagus. Stiles’ eyes flit around the room refusing to look at Jackson. He feels pathetic - how did he let this happen? Guilt boils deep in his stomach.

There’s an exasperated sigh from above him, “Don’t apologize Stiles, just promise me you won’t do it again.”

Stiles nods his head, “I promise Jacks.”

Jackson moved to lie down next to him on his bedroom floor. They lie there staring up at the ceiling for so long, neither saying a word, that Stiles thinks the other boy fell asleep. Hesitantly he moves closer to his adoptive brother and gives Jackson a tight hug.

Stiles flails a little bit in surprise when Jackson hugs him back, “You scared me.”

///

The next morning he’s practically drowning in his shame over what he did. He never thought he would be the type of person to do something like that. He was wrong. Keeping his head down Stiles sits down as far away from Hale as he can get. Stiles really doesn’t have it in him to deal with much of anything at the moment.

The majority of his classmates let out a low groan when Mr. Harris walks into class smiling brighter than a ray of sunshine. Bad things happen when that man is happy, _very bad things_.

“Alright class, today you are getting assigned your semester projects that will account for sixty percent of your grade. You will be expected to make a schedule to work on your project with your lab partner outside of class since you won’t be getting any time during class to work on them.”

And there goes Plan B. He’d all but forgotten about the locker room incident up until that point. _Fuck. My. Life._

Harris starts walking down the isles handing out packets, “I have assigned each group a different project so that there will be no cheating. I also have recorded who has what project so no swapping with anyone. You will be expected to create your assigned project topic and then write a ten page paper on it. Which you will then present to the class at the end of the semester.”

When Stiles flips over the packet to see what their project is he lets out a strangled squeak. He makes an abortive glance over at Hale sitting at the opposite end of their table and then back down at their packet. Molotov cocktails.

“Is there a problem Mr. Stilinski?” There is gleam in his eye at Stiles’ obvious distress. “No? Good.”

After that Stiles kind of just zones out. Harris is trying to kill him dead. Seriously did his life not suck enough before?

A crumpled up piece of paper hits him in the head and then drops down onto the table next to him. Stiles’ eyebrows draw together in confusion as he smoothes out the sheet of notebook paper.

_‘You okay?’_  is written in the neatest handwriting he has ever seen.

Stiles scowls when he looks up to see Hale watching him intently. _‘What do you want Hale?’_

Out of the corner of his eye he watches Hale scribble furiously before sliding the note back to him. Hale’s earlier question is circled multiple times. He sighs heavily before responding, _‘I’m fine.’_

_‘Bullshit.’_

When he looks up to meet the thug’s green gaze head on the other boy looks determined. _‘Why do you care?’_

_‘I don’t.’_

Stiles wants to groan, just when he thinks he’s got Hale all figured out the dude does something completely unexpected. _‘Then why did you ask?’_

Instead of answering Stiles’ question Hale decides to change the subject, _‘Sit with me at lunch.’_

His racing mind shudders to a halt, _‘Why???’_

_‘So we can figure out what to do for our project.’_

_‘Are you asking me or are you ordering me?’_ Stiles eyes squint in irritation.

_‘Does it matter?’_

_‘Yes! It fucking matters Hale because I am not one of your goddamn lackeys that you can just order around whenever you want.’_ Stiles has to make an effort to swallow down bitter anger that’s burning him up from the inside out.

_‘Just be there Stilinski.’_

For the rest of class Stiles slouches down in his seat stewing. Who the fuck does Hale think he is ordering Stiles around? He contemplates just blowing off the burly lacrosse player altogether and going to the library during lunch like he originally planned. But he doesn’t want to look weak, like he’s too scared to. Hale would be able to sense it the way a shark can smell blood in water from miles off.

When he gets to the cafeteria the table the Leather Cult usually sits at is still empty so Stiles sits down on a chair and cracks open his folklore book. He tries to ignore the hushed whispers and looks he’s garnering but he can’t quite block out the cacophony surrounding him.

Briefly he looks up over his book to where Jackson and his friends sit everyday. Immediately he wishes he hadn’t because the look of pure fury and betrayal on Jackson’s face makes him wish he was still drugged out of his mind. Even though he hasn’t technically done anything warrant the look of betrayal he can still feel the guilt welling up inside. This is why he doesn’t allow himself to have friends, because he will always screw up and hurt them.

“Hey Stiles,” he looks up as the McCall kid, Scott, sits down across from him. “You sitting here today?”

“His royal majesty decreed it,” Stiles mumbles under his breath heatedly.

“Huh?” Scott cocks his head to the side like a curious puppy.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head, “Nothing man.”

“Uh, okay,” Scott looks uncomfortably down at his lunch tray for a few moments obviously looking for something to say. “So how’s your dad doing?”

“He’s fine,” And it’s that question right there that makes people shy away from him. Oh sure there is a plethora of other things as well but that question is the main reason. Mostly because everyone feels the need to ask him how his dad is, like it shows they care or something. Stiles just doesn’t answer it the way he should. There’s no inflection or elaboration, no emotion whatsoever when he answers.

He lied the other day when he told Derek that he would be voted most likely to become a serial killer. Sure Derek is outwardly violent but it’s always the quiet ones isn’t it. It’s the real reason nobody wants to be around him, because for all his silence Stiles is the Big Bad on campus that nobody wants to mess with, not Derek. To be quite honest he doesn’t think he’s going to snap and just come to school in a murderous rampage and kill everyone. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, but then again he never thought he’d abuse his medicine either so who knows.

If Scott looked uncomfortable before it’s nothing compared to the look on his face now. The jock clears his throat, “That’s cool man.”

“What’s cool?” Erica asks as she, Boyd, and Isaac all sit down.

“Batman,” Stiles answers automatically.

“Oh God, not you too,” Isaac moans.

“Shut up,” Erica growls from her seat next to Stiles. “You guys are heathens.”

Isaac snorts, “Way to break out the big words for our guest there Erica.”

Stiles stares wide eyed at the two teenagers as they volley insults back and forth until Isaac admits defeat and Erica turns her attention back to him. The blonde dominatrix latches onto his arm and moves into his personal space so that she is practically plastered to his side. Claustrophobic and slightly nauseated, Stiles cringes as he tries to pull out of her grip but Erica doesn’t budge. “You know,” she purrs into his ear sending a shiver of fear down his spine. “You never apologized yesterday for comparing us to Grease cast members.”

And he never thought he’d say this but he’s actually glad when Derek sits down next to him and growls, “Back off Erica.”

“Chill out Der, I was just having a little fun,” Erica slowly drags her hand across his arm as she lets go and sits back down in her seat. _Thank you sweet baby Jesus._ He literally cannot stand it when other people touch him, it freaks him out.

Stiles scoots his chair closer to Hale because at this point he is way more scared of Erica than he is of Derek and all of his muscles. Stiles worries at his bottom lip nervously while staring down at the lunch table intently trying to get his panic under control. When he looks up from under his lashes Hale is staring at his mouth. Stiles immediately stops. Derek’s green gaze meets his with a hungry look. Stiles feels like he just stuck his finger in an electrical socket. His entire body convulses minutely as the hair on the back of his neck stands on edge.

“Got any plans for the weekend Stiles?” Isaac asks from his seat next to Scott.

Stiles blinks up at the curly haired blonde in surprise, “No, not really.”

“Good, then you can come to my house so we can work on our project,” Derek’s arm brushes up against his.

“I can’t this weekend,” Stiles shakes his head, hoping in vain that nobody at the table notices how steadily more panicked he is getting.

“Why not? You just told Isaac you weren’t doing anything,” Hale moves closer into his personal space so they’re sides are nearly touching.

“No, I said I didn’t have plans. So not the same thing dude,” Stiles glances down at the rapidly shrinking amount of space between them and tries to scoot away only to bump up against Erica on his other side.

“Don’t, call me dude,” Hale growls. “What are you doing that you can’t work on our project?”

“That is _so_ none of your business,” Stiles snorts.

“Fine,” Hale’s broody eyebrows of doom scrunch up as he scowls. “Are you free next weekend?”

He can feel the body heat coming off of both Derek and Erica on either side of him. The two are so close to him it’s as if they’re trying to make a Stiles sandwich. He feels trapped, like prey. The sensation makes his whole body turn clammy, Stiles gets up from his chair and starts to leave in a rush to escape, “Yeah, sure.”

“Hey Stiles,” he stops walking at Derek’s voice and turns back around. “Don’t go outside after dark this weekend.”

Stiles stand rooted in his spot for a moment, unsure of what to do. His see’s Jackson’s ice blue eyes flash in anger before his adoptive brother turns away, ignoring his unspoken plea for understanding. From his seat next to the angry co-captain, Matt flashes Stiles his own look of vindictive glee at his obvious distress. Sucking in a deep breath to steady himself Stiles turns around and goes to the library, his heart in his throat the whole way there.

///

The weight of the violin cradled on his shoulder is familiar, comforting in a way that most things in his life aren’t. Molten gold eyes close in concentration as he plays. The steady sound of the machines keeping his father alive help him keep tempo. The music never going over mezzo piano so as not to disturb the other patients. Back held in a straight line and feet planted slightly apart firmly on the linoleum underneath his sneakers. Songs melding into one another as he plays anything and everything; from Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata to the Imperial March from Star Wars.

Stiles is so focused on the instrument in his hands that he doesn’t even notice that he managed to wrangle in an audience for his performance. When he finally stops, a beautiful girl with long dark hair and bright eyes starts clapping. Where Derek is often sullen and bitter his older sister, Laura, is mischievous and always smiling. Having been born just short of eleven months before Derek, Laura was a year above them in school and graduated the previous year.

“I’m glad to see you’re still playing,” Laura flashed him a smile.

Stiles used to play for her a lot when her Uncle Peter was in a coma staying in a room down the hall. Peter Hale had been the only victim in the inferno that Kate Argent started when she set the Hale house on fire. The rest of the Hale family had been out to dinner and Peter was suppose to meet them at the restaurant after he got done with work. Peter had gone home to change out of his work clothes when it happened. The guy was barely alive when they finally got him to the hospital. Over ninety percent of his body covered in third degree burns. They ended up having to keep him in ICU for close to a year before the moved him down the hall from Stiles’ dad’s room.

Most of the Hales would visit weekly but Laura was the only one who came everyday. Over time she and Stiles bonded, often walking to the hospital together after school and just hanging out. Then during Stiles’ sophomore year Peter came out of his coma. It was a miracle. A miracle that he was more than a little bitter about at the time. Stiles couldn’t understand why Peter got to get better while his father still lay in bed wasting away. His and Laura’s relationship became a little strained for a while until Stiles managed to get over himself.

Stiles smiled back at her, “I thought you left for college?”

Laura shoved him playfully, “Came back home for the weekend.”

“Missing home already? It’s only been like what a week since the semester started?”

Laura raised an eyebrow, “Why, you counting the days that I’m gone?”

He places his violin in it’s case and slouches in his chair, “Yep, best damn week of my life.”

The green eyed girl places a hand over her heart and give a dramatic sigh, “And here I thought we were going to get married and have a house full of rugrats running around. Don’t you love me anymore?”

Stiles snorts, “We both know that was never going to happen. In fact I’m pretty sure you figured out I was gay before I did.”

“What can I say, I’m awesome,” Laura shrugs gracefully. “So I heard Harris made you and Derek lab partners for the year.”

Stiles lets out groan, “I swear to God he wants me dead.”

“Who? Derek or Harris?” she grins viciously. Seriously what is with all of the Hale’s being creepy? It’s like its some kind of dominant trait in their DNA.

“Both!” Stiles wails dramatically.

“Well I get Derek, cause he hates everyone. But why Harris?”

“No freaking clue. I think the dude’s still pissed at me for burning down the science department freshman year.”

Laura giggles, “Well you did blow up his desk.”

“So not my fault, I’m like jinxed or something,” he pouts petulantly.

“I also heard that you and Jackson almost ran Derek over on the first day of school,” Laura tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Instantaneously his good mood tanks at the mention of his adoptive brother. Jackson had refused to talk to him for the rest of the day after lunch.

“Oh my God,” Stiles groans. “That was totally on accident, which I already told both your asshat of a brother and the new Principal by the way.”

“You guys got a new Principal?”

“Yeah, Mr. Argent. Really old and has that whole villain persona thing going on.” There is a noticeable change in Laura’s demeanor as her face turns into an expressionless mask. Scrambling for a change of subject he says the first thing that pops into his head, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot,” Laura looks understandably hesitant.

“What’s up with your brother? Yesterday he corners me in the locker room and slams me up against the wall while I’m in the middle of taking a shower. Then today he tells me not to go outside after dark this weekend. And if that’s not enough he keeps on staring at me like he wants to devour me or something; and he acts like he’s never even heard of the concept of personal space before. The guy is seriously weirding me out.”

Laura’s eyebrows look like they’re trying to climb up to her hairline and lets out a soft _‘Jesus Christ Derek,’_ that he doesn’t think he was meant to hear. “You know how much of a creeper Derek can be, he’s probably just trying to fuck with you.”

Stiles scowls and narrows his eyes at her because he knows there’s something Laura isn’t telling him. “Just tell me if I need to be worried that he’s going to go all Hannibal Lecter on my ass.”

Laura rolls her eyes so hard Stiles thinks there’s a possibility she could have sprained something. “No, geez. Don’t be such a drama queen Stilinski.”

“Fuck you too Hale,” Stiles grins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Any criticism, good or bad, is always welcome so just let me know how you feel about the story so far.


	4. The Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!   
> So I know its been forever since I last updated and for that I am majorly sorry. Life has been pretty hectic since I last posted but hopefully I will be posting more regularly from now on but no promises. Also the chapters probably won't be as long as the ones before but don't quote me on that. I hope that you guys enjoy.

The starry sky is lit up brightly overhead as Stiles sits on a cliff overlooking Beacon Hills. The preserve around him is quiet except for the occasional nocturnal creatures moving about. Shivering in the cool night air Stiles huddles into his hoodie, his breath visible with every exhale.

With slightly stiff hands Stiles takes another swig from the bottle of Jack in his grasp. He winces slightly as it burns going down.

He has long since gone numb from his perch on the ledge. Stiles first found this place years ago. Young and angry at the world for taking away his parents, he had run away from Robert and Susan. Lost and wandering with no real sense of direction Stiles had ended up here. From the cliff Beacon Hills felt so small, his problems so far away.

He felt untouchable.

Ever since that day Stiles would come up here when he was feeling particularly overwhelmed, because up here his problems couldn’t get to him.

So here he was sloshed out of his mind at two o’clock in the morning, his thoughts circling Jackson in an never ending cycle.

His adoptive brother had been acting so weird since last year. More moody and manic about always being perfect. Jackson hadn’t said one word to him in over a week and he didn’t know why.

Stiles knew that Jackson didn’t like that he was lab partners with Hale but would that really cause this kind of a rift between them? The lacrosse captain was his best friend and not having him there felt like he was missing limb. But Stiles didn’t know how to get Jackson to talk to him. He could try tying him up or maybe just locking them both up into a room until he got Jackson to tell him what the hell was going on. But knowing Jackson, the stubborn douchebag, he would let them both starve to death before talking to Stiles if he didn’t want to.

Stiles didn’t know how much longer he could take radio silence before he broke. He rubbed tiredly at his bright amber eyes with numb fingers before staring up at the waning moon that was hanging heavy in the sky.

His vision unfocused and swam, he felt disconnected in the best way. Distantly he knew that he’d have hell to pay tomorrow for getting so drunk but in that moment it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he could seriously hurt himself by mixing alcohol with his meds, or that he had school in a few hours. Because as long as he was here up on his cliff he was fine.

Eventually the sun starts to rise and reality begins to seep in. Begrudgingly Stiles makes his way through the preserve and back home. As he’s walking he notices how unnaturally quiet the preserve is. A twig snaps loudly behind him causing Stile to pick up his pace. He feels something sting the back of his neck before he loses all control of his body and falls to the ground. Desperately he tries to move his limbs but he feels like a marionette that’s had all of its strings cut. His body feels as though its been weighed down with cement and no matter how hard he struggles he can’t move.

Even as he’s freaking the fuck out and heading straight towards a panic attack a fog settles over his mind. The cloying haze suddenly leaves him exhausted to his core and he wants nothing more that to close his eyes and go to sleep.

His subconscious is screaming at him to get the fuck up, that sleeping right now is a big fucking no no, but Stiles doesn’t care.

Just as the fog is pulling him under Stiles find a pair of bright yellow reptilian eyes staring back at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you guys enjoyed it and feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing back from you guys! :)


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